Snowflakes
by trash box
Summary: Miles Edgeworth & Phoenix Wright. // a cold winters night, a bench and a lamp post.


A soft crunch accompanied each footstep. He savoured the chill breeze; it seemed to sweep about him in a loving embrace, dulling the hot flush of pain that reality brought. In his view, a bench, lit only by a lamppost. There were stars in the sky, he knew, but the lights of apartments many stories above limited his view of them. Snowflakes fell, adorning the sky with unmatched grace. It seemed ethereal, that he would find such peace in this tainted city.

As he strode closer to the bench, the snow shifting lazily under his shoes, his mind turned to the small puffs of breath he made. The frosty flakes settled in his hair, on his broad shoulders, and all around his once-flawless clothing. Lounging lazily on the bench, Miles Edgeworth let his head fall back, savouring the peace he found in the cold touch of snow. A thought flickered across his mind, his clothing would be soaked from the snow-coated bench, but he could not bring himself to care. A snowflake landed cheekily on his nose, slowly melting and becoming a drop of water, tickling its way down his cheek and throat. He chuckled to himself, watching the small chuffs of air gather and fade into the night. So engrossed was he in this simple pleasure of existence, that he did not notice when another joined him on the bench. It was only when a foreign breath mingled with his own and disappeared together into the sky that he turned his attentions to the figure beside him.

Phoenix Wright sitting comfortably, his breath puffing between lips to almost appear as if he were smoking. Miles let his eyes fall shut, not ignoring the man beside him, but feeling no obligation to ruin this peace that had settled over the small bench, lit only by a lamppost. He could feel his eyelashes grow wet with snowflakes, which quickly melted at the warmth, making him look as if he were crying. There was no room in his mind for thoughts of the past, or even of the future. He simply let himself drift, a truly rare occasion. Had he willed it, sleep could have easily overcome him, letting him drown in it's warm shallows. Instead, Miles Edgeworth let himself simply relax beside the figure of his childhood friend and rival.

Phoenix seemed to be exhibiting good judgement, simply letting the puffs of his breath curl about in front of him, silently. He was leaning back, his long neck exposed to the cold and now running wet with melted snowflakes. Eyes barely open, and certainly not focusing on anything. Miles wondered how he'd ever mistaken the defence attorney for a loud-mouthed fool, not that he couldn't play that role annoyingly well. Miles silently observed his bench mate, uncaring as to how he appeared to the other.

What a sight they must have made, to the casual observer. If one had simply chosen to glance out their apartment window, they would have seen far below them, a small lighted bench with two increasingly damp men lounging in comfortable silence. One seemingly mildly amused by the other's quiet fascination with his own breath.

Time held no meaning, as long as the snow kept falling and the light shining strong, they would have quite happily stayed out there all night if it were not for the shrill scream of a police siren. Neither of them twitched a muscle as the violent cry trilled until it was nothing more than a faint memory. Other police vehicles were obviously in pursuit, as Miles didn't even have to move his eyes to see the red and blue lights reflect off the falling snow.

Phoenix seemed undisturbed, rather content to let life happen. It seemed almost meaningless, like an after-thought when he finally spoke aloud, his voice lazy like the atmosphere, "I hadn't pictured you as the type to enjoy the snow."

It was an observation, not one pretending to be earth-shattering, but honest enough that Miles felt no need to object it. Phoenix's eyes were closed and he was murmuring into the air faintly, soothingly. His tongue flickered out, an impulse, and caught a snowflake deftly before returning to its owner who now bore a slight smile. Miles let his eyes drift skyward, stretching his neck lazily, not replying, not needing to. A snowflake made its way down to his slightly ajar lips, melting at the contact it made. A pair of amused breaths took to the skies, twisting about themselves as if to try and become comfortable in their own skin.

The cool night air took a sharp dive to an uncomfortable temperature, exaggerated somewhat by the dampness of the two men's clothing. Miles idly thought of how nice a long hot bath would be, but first he had to get to his own apartment. And there was only one problem with that statement, he couldn't be bothered. Phoenix's hair appeared to have frozen slightly, but he didn't seem to mind. Slowly rising to his feet, Phoenix's gaze was turned upwards, seemingly searching - albeit not too hardly. The relaxed pace of his thoughts hindered Miles' ability to decide whether or not to even bother going home, but the recurring thought of a warm bath made the decision for him.

As a thank-you to Phoenix Wright, for his company and for his peace, Miles spoke softly into the night air, "Perhaps pictures can be deceiving." He was aware of a warm smile beginning on the other's features, and chose that time to begin his short trek back into the precinct's business car, letting the snow crumble and caress his already soaked shoes.


End file.
